words too small for any hope or promise
by BleepBlapBloop
Summary: There is no intended destination; just the two of them, Stiles' Jeep and the open road.
1. Chapter 1

This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written, just feelings and lyrics and it's terrible and I'm sorry. Actually I'm not, I needed this after the finale. Spoilers up to 3x12, except Derek and Cora didn't leave, so AU-ish, I guess?

Title from Richard Siken's "The Torn-Up Road"

I don't own TW, the characters or any of the songs you might recognize.

* * *

"Okay, so what's the plan?"

Isaac looks around, looks up, looks at the door he desperately wishes Stiles hadn't closed. At least it isn't locked. He could get out easily if he wanted to, he knows that. Even his heart seems to know there is no real reason for him to panic, beating only slightly faster than normal.

It still doesn't mean that he likes it.

They're hiding in the janitor's closet because Stiles is nuts, speaking in hushed tones as if they were a planning a murder – they aren't, not this time, promise – and Isaac has trouble understanding why all of this is necessary. If by some cruel twist of fate Scott happens to find them here, he's sure as hell going to have a lot more questions than if he had found them in the cafeteria talking like normal people.

"Why are you whispering?" he asks to avoid answering the question and blinks innocently at Stiles whose arms are crossed over his chest, left foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "Actually, why are we even here? Scott is somewhere with Lydia, it's not like – "

"You don't have a plan, do you?"

And, well. No. No, he really doesn't.

All he has is an idea and he hadn't even been sure it was a good one until Stiles said it was, so no, there is no plan, Isaac hasn't thought that far ahead yet. He knows what he wants to do but that – that's about it. He sort of supposed they would get up at four am, grab some snacks and take the first bus to wherever, but right now that's starting to sound stupid even in his head so he's not saying it out loud. Asking Derek to let them borrow his car is completely out of the question; never in a million years would Derek agree to that, not even for Scott's sake.

Because that's it. That's the actual problem and the reason why Isaac feels like he's about to lose it and do something extremely stupid, like rip someone's throat out if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Scott.

Scott, who hasn't been himself lately.

He's not okay, no matter what he says or how hard he tries to act like he's fine, which doesn't exactly come as a surprise considering everything that has happened in the last few months and Deaton's warning on top of that, but it's getting to the point where even Coach, whose main concern still is to keep the team in shape and who still doesn't know that half of said team are supernatural beings, has started to ask every now and then how Scott is doing. And Isaac – Isaac wants to help. To get Scott out of this town before it sucks the life out of him completely.

He told Stiles first because – well, it's not like he's asking for Stiles' permission, but he knows how much Scott and Stiles mean to each other and apparently that's starting to mean something to Isaac too, because he wants to assure Stiles that he won't let anything happen to Scott, that he'll look after him, that Scott is safe with Isaac. He just – he needs Stiles to be okay with this.

Yeah, he's asking for Stiles' permission.

Stiles eyes Isaac warily for what seems like forever, tilts his head to one side, then to the other. In the end he lets out a deep sigh, rolls his eyes dramatically and tells Isaac to pack some clothes and a toothbrush the next morning and leave the rest to him.

Isaac can only nod even if he has no idea what the hell just happened.

/ / /

"Derek said he wants to take us and Cora somewhere to train, I don't even know," he tells Allison later that afternoon, trying not to feel too guilty for lying to her so early in their relationship.

Not that what they have is a relationship. Isaac is pretty sure that requires more than fooling around a few times and he doesn't think he's capable of offering that kind of emotional commitment yet. But he has to explain to Allison why he'll be gone for the weekend and he can't exactly tell her that he's sort of planning to kidnap Scott.

God, that doesn't sound right.

The thing is, everyone will be worried if they find out what is going on, so Isaac tries to keep it a secret. Stiles and Melissa are the only ones who know – well, they don't know much either if he's being completely honest, and he still can't believe they're actually letting him do this considering that Isaac himself doesn't know what the fuck he's trying to do. Essentially his plan is "get Scott out of Beacon Hills, take his mind off things, bend over backwards to try and fix whatever's broken, you have two days."

It's a terrible plan and Isaac hates it but he would hate himself even more if he didn't at least try to help Scott.

"Isaac."

Allison's voice is steady. Confident. So different from how his own voice sounds sometimes. He likes it, he realizes. Allison's strength, the way she's in complete control of her emotions. He wishes he could say he knows that's Allison's personal choice, not to show how vulnerable she really is. Wishes it didn't have anything to do with her grandfather and what he did to her.

But the truth remains that they're all just a bunch of messed up, insecure kids pretending to be fearless heroes. Sheep in wolf's clothing, not the other way around. It's probably why they get along so well.

"Is Scott okay?"

Isaac can feel hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat as soon as the question leaves her mouth. Of course. Allison doesn't need werewolf senses to know when he's trying to hide something from her, especially if it's related to Scott.

It doesn't bother him, this bond the two of them still have; he knows they still love each other in a way and probably always will, and that – that's a good thing. What makes him uncomfortable is having to lie to so many people who care about Scott. People who have known Scott for longer than he has, who could tell him to leave Scott alone, that Scott doesn't need his help. And maybe they would be right, they know Scott better than Isaac does after all, but Isaac couldn't bear to hear that again. That he's useless, worthless, that no one really needs him – that Scott doesn't need him. The only one who can tell him that is Scott himself.

He looks at Allison, takes in her big brown eyes – worried, always worried – and smiles as reassuringly as he can. "Yeah, Scott, he – he's fine," Isaac lies and swears to do whatever it takes for that not to be a lie by the time they return.

/ / /

Melissa makes them breakfast before she goes to work, gives Isaac a brown paper bag after making sure Scott isn't paying them any attention. Sandwiches. Isaac can't hold back a smile, mouths _thank you_ and puts the bag in his backpack, which is full of clothes instead of books. He really hopes he doesn't fuck this up.

She hugs them both and if Scott notices that his hug lasts a bit longer he doesn't say a thing. Then again, he's still half-asleep, so maybe he actually doesn't notice.

That changes ten minutes later when Stiles arrives with Lydia in tow. As soon as he sees her, Scott is wide awake and asking what happened, what's wrong, is she okay, is everyone okay. He looks tired, so very tired but absolutely prepared to fight if he has to.

Stiles and Isaac exchange a knowing look. That is exactly why _this_ is happening. Scott needs a break before he loses it completely.

"Get in the car, Scotty," Stiles says after Lydia manages to calm Scott down – no, seriously, everything's fine, Scott, breathe –, looking almost as nervous as Isaac feels. He squeezes Scott's shoulder, gives him a secret, indecipherable smile that makes Scott raise an eyebrow, and for a second Isaac thinks that's it, Scott knows they're up to something, it's over, there's nothing left to do, and it's all because Stiles Stilinski's face has a mind of its own.

But Scott just shrugs, waves at Lydia and punches Stiles playfully in the shoulder before getting in the passenger seat, and Isaac lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Stiles gives him the car keys with a whispered "Take care of my baby, yeah?" which Isaac would snort at if Stiles didn't look so serious. And Isaac thinks, well, maybe he doesn't mean his Jeep.

"So… I think I'd like to know what's going on."

Ridiculously enough, Scott's voice startles him and he drops the keys as he watches Stiles and Lydia drive away in Lydia's car. Of course Stiles, who was looking back, notices and proceeds to yell "Great start there, Lahey!" which is shortly followed by "Ow, Lydia, why – "

Isaac grins. Lydia is definitely growing on him.

He braces himself for the worst and gets in car expecting Scott to be freaked out or angry or at least annoyed and maybe brooding. Instead he finds Scott with an amused smile on his lips, like they're all playing some kind of joke on him and he's just waiting for the punch line.

Isaac notices a duffel bag on the back seat and he's reaching over before he can stop himself. Stiles' scent is the one he recognizes first, it's impossible not to, but if he focuses he can still catch faint traces of Scott's underneath it. Clothes Scott must have left at Stiles' place at some point, he guesses, casually sniffing a shirt because that's what normal people do.

There's some money there too, and a note that says, "_Gas & food. You're welcome._"

And yeah, that's definitely Lydia's neat handwriting. Isaac is forever indebted to both her and Stiles.

"Dude, seriously," Scott starts again, the smile gone from his lips. "What the hell are we doing?"

"Leaving town for the weekend," Isaac replies with a sigh, suddenly wanting to get it all out. Before he chickens out or something. He supposes he should start the car.

Scott opens his mouth but says nothing, eyes widening almost comically as the words start to sink in, and then he's shaking his head furiously. "No. No way, we're not doing that, no. No. Isaac, we can't!"

They can, actually. They have a car and apparently gas money too, clean clothes and what looks like a beautiful day ahead. So, technically, they can.

Isaac tells Scott this much and, predictably, Scott disagrees.

"No, Isaac, seriously, come on, man," he splutters, brown eyes ridiculously wide, arms flailing everywhere. He's never looked more like Stiles. "Dude, this isn't funny, my mom – "

"Is worried sick about you."

"Exactly!"

"No, not about this, she's okay with this," Isaac waves him off, focusing on the road. He doesn't want to think about what Stiles will do to him if he so much as scratches the Jeep. He also doesn't really want to talk about why exactly Melissa is more than okay with them doing this; that's a conversation Melissa and Scott need to have first.

"She's okay with – what – she's – Isaac, stop the car!"

And Isaac pulls over because he has yet to master the art of driving and fighting with your best friend at the same time. Not that he wants to fight with Scott but that seems inevitable now, so.

It's not as easy as he thought it would be to explain to Scott why he's doing this – he can handle the part where everyone is worried about Scott because most of the time he's either so tired that he can barely keep his eyes open or uncharacteristically tightly wound and moody and closed-off. He can tell Scott that he hears him tossing and turning every night, unable to sleep for longer than one hour or two – which means that Isaac isn't sleeping either, but he hopes Scott won't pick up on that; the truth is it's been weeks since they last had a good night's sleep. He has no problem flat-out telling Scott that he's slowly turning into Derek, and having one damaged, guilt-ridden wolf in their pack is more than enough, thank you very much.

What Isaac doesn't dare to confess is that he's also doing it for his own selfish reasons. Because he hates that lately Scott has been so guarded around him, always careful, always thinking twice before cracking a joke, always weighing his words. Because he misses Scott's contagious laughter and those carefree smiles that would light up Isaac's entire world. Because he wants their effortless friendship back and he's so, so sorry that he messed that up by starting this _thing_ he has with Allison.

And he needs – this. To spend some time with Scott, to try to fix everything that's broken, because what they have means too much for Isaac to give it up without a fight. Scott means too much. And Isaac may be used to losing everyone he loves, but he can't lose Scott too.

"This is a terrible idea," Scott concludes after Stiles hangs up on him, just like Melissa did less than ten minutes ago. But Scott is frustratingly stubborn so of course he had to call them both. "He said that the universe owes me this much or something," he huffs and buries his head in his hands, and while that sounds like something only Stiles could come up with and genuinely mean, Isaac has to agree that it also sounds ridiculous. He seriously doubts that the universe gives a shit about what they think it owes them.

"Stiles has Derek on speed dial, you know. Just in case," Isaac offers, hoping that might help somehow. He can see Scott's resolve starting to weaken and that makes him feel a bit more confident again, like someone lit up a candle inside of him and then another one and another and then he's glowing from the inside out. "And it's not like we'll be in, like, New York, so – "

"Yeah, I know," Scott interrupts, nodding a couple of times, sighing deeply, nodding once more.

Isaac doesn't know what to do with that. Is that a yes? Okay? Let's do this? Let's go back home and forget all about it?

"So, where are we going?"

Isaac turns his head so quickly he almost gets whiplash. Was _that_ a yes? Because it sure sounded a lot like yes. Did Scott just agree –

"Dude, I can hear you thinking. Yes, it's a yes. Now tell me where we're going."

Isaac doesn't even try to bite back a grin at that, feeling like someone's just given him the world, even if Scott sounds resigned more than anything and his eyes don't sparkle like they usually do; but it isn't _no_, not anymore, and that's all Isaac needs.

"Anywhere," he answers because it's the first thing that comes to mind and also because it's true. There is no intended destination; just the two of them, Stiles' Jeep and the open road.

Scott shrugs, leans his head against the window and begins to untangle his earphones. "If you say so," he mumbles and gives Isaac one last look before turning his iPod on and closing his eyes, _this is a portrait of a tortured you and I_ hanging like a heavy curtain around him.

Isaac needs a moment but then he shrugs too, admittedly a bit disappointed, but he refuses to let Scott's less-than-enthusiastic answer bring him down. He's going to let Scott brood for now if that's what he needs, but he'll also be right next to him when Scott decides he's ready to smile again.

/ / /

The first thing Scott asks when he wakes up three hours later is where they are.

"Middle of Nowhere, California," Isaac answers promptly, taking a big bite out of a sandwich. He's feeling a bit restless and a bit bored at the same time, having driven for too long with no one to talk to and only too tall trees and too quiet small towns to keep him company. But that was the longest Scott's slept in weeks, so waking him up wasn't even an option.

Isaac watches Scott yawn and rub his eyes, brown hair mussed, right earphone still in, _you're miles away and yesterday you were here with me_, features relaxed and soft until he remembers where he is.

And Isaac keeps staring at him, nervous for so many reasons, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, silently praying that it won't.

"Eyes on the road, Lahey." Scott grins but it feels forced. He's tense and visibly worried and his heart is beating too fast and everything is wrong.

Isaac figures it's time to throw caution to the wind, reaches out and takes Scott's hand, lacing their fingers together without a second thought.

Scott lets him.

/ / /

It started with _because I trust you_, Isaac supposes, the very first words of a chapter he never intended to write, and continued with Scott rushing to save him so many times he's lost count, with honest smiles and bone-deep trust and Isaac standing soaking wet in Scott's bedroom after being let down once again.

He remembers what friendship used to feel like, remembers Matt and comic books and pretending to be Peter Parker, bike races and the two of them waiting for their Hogwarts letters. Being friends with Scott is just like that and something entirely different all at once, a comfortable feeling of safety and a pleasant nervousness that makes Isaac's heart skip a beat. It's a friendly pat on the shoulder, a warm hand on a chest, Scott's motorcycle and Isaac's arms wrapped snugly around his waist. It's inside jokes and accidental innuendos that Scott snickers at and Isaac never feels like he has to apologize for.

It's sweet and platonic until Isaac's subtlety flies out the window and Scott begins to look confused but never tells Isaac to stop with the unnecessary touching. And sometimes, because he's a masochistic idiot, Isaac allows himself to hope that maybe he's not the only one who feels like they're stuck somewhere between _more than_ and _almost_ and _not yet_.

It started with _I don't want you to get hurt_ and fingertips touching and a prolonged gaze.

/ / /

They don't talk much until they do, and Scott is still on edge until he isn't anymore, singing along to the radio, iPod forgotten in the grey hoodie he'd taken off a while ago, or whining about wanting chocolate. Isaac stops at a gas station, telling himself it was time for a break anyway, and waits outside while Scott does the shopping, stretching his back and arms until he hears a satisfying pop.

Scott comes back with barbecue flavored chips and a six pack of Red Bull. No chocolate. He grins dopily at Isaac, eyes crinkling at the corners and dimples showing, looking like the kid that he is for the first time in weeks, and it's only because he hasn't seen that grin in a while that Isaac forgets how to breathe for a second, dizzy with joy and hope. He has to shake his head because staring is inappropriate and so is the fact that he wouldn't mind to keep looking at his best friend's lips.

Scott clears his throat, a slight blush on his cheeks. His left hand comes to rest on Isaac's shoulder, warm and comforting as always, and then he's pushing himself up on his tiptoes, sliding his arms around Isaac's neck.

Isaac freezes.

It's stupid and he knows he's overreacting. It doesn't mean anything, Scott and Stiles are all over each other more often than not, that's how their friendship works, unrestrained affection and a constant need to touch, like they want to make sure the other is in fact there, real and tangible and alive. Isaac can't blame them considering everything they've been through.

His arms move almost of their own accord, wrapping themselves slowly around Scott's smaller body, and he knows, rationally speaking, that this is nothing but a friendly hug. It doesn't stop his heart from racing, though.

"Thanks," Scott sighs, nose buried in the crook of Isaac's neck. "I know what you're doing. I mean you and mom and Stiles. So. Thank you. For this. For caring."

It feels like a punch in the gut for some reason, the fact that Scott thinks he has to thank him. Because Scott should know by now how important he is to Isaac, that he and Melissa have become the family that Isaac has been dreaming of for years, that he would walk through fire for them. And he's not doing this because he feels like he owes Scott something. He's doing it because he wants to, because friends look after each other. And Scott is always trying to do good and help everyone, so he shouldn't look so embarrassed and almost disappointed that sometimes he needs to be taken care of, too. He deserves this, he deserves this more than anyone.

Isaac pulls back a bit and leans down to rest their foreheads together, cupping Scott's face in his hands as his lips curve into a smile. This is still okay, he knows, he's seen Stiles do this too, and then he usually bumps their noses together, which always makes Scott laugh heartily, but Isaac isn't going to do that. It feels like stealing something that belongs to Scott and Stiles alone, and it's taken Isaac long enough to convince Stiles that he isn't trying to replace him, that all he wants is to find his own place in Scott's life and heart.

"We should probably go." Scott takes a step back and he's looking at the ground, but Isaac can see the tug of a smile on his lips.

He relaxes instantly, leaning against the Jeep with his arms crossed over his chest. "Eager, are we?" he teases, reveling in the sound of Scott's laugh, ignoring the warm fluttering in his stomach. "So, you actually want to do this now? You're okay with it, yeah?"

"Well," Scott starts, and his is face serious but there's an unmistakable mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "You do know I could just make you turn this car around and take me back home, right?"

Isaac grins. "Yeah? You gonna go all Alpha on me?"

And maybe – maybe he shouldn't have said that. His breath catches in his throat at the look Scott gives him, but it's not because Scott is angry – he isn't, Scott never gets mad at him, not even when Isaac wolfs out and the only thing that can pull him back is Scott's commanding voice. It's just something they don't really talk about, and having Scott look at him like that is still unusual and it makes Isaac want to bare his throat and close his eyes and let Scott have complete control over him. And he knows it's a stupid, stupid wolf thing, visceral and overpowering, so it's not like there's anything he can do about it.

Scott shakes his head, lets out a short, embarrassed laugh and mumbles a quick "Sorry, dude," before squeezing Isaac's hand lightly and getting back in the car. Isaac wants to ask what he's apologizing for but he thinks that Scott himself doesn't really know either.

It's awkward and they're silent again for a while, the only noise coming from the engine and the radio playing softly in the background. Isaac keeps stealing glances at Scott only to find him looking back, and suddenly it's that kind of awkward that's accompanied by flushed cheeks and barely contained grins and the occasional giggle. They burst out laughing at the same time, looking anywhere but at each other. It's ridiculous, Stiles would probably knock their heads together if he were there to see how they're acting.

Isaac's never been good with words, he's well aware of that and has no problem admitting it out loud if he has to. Words are confusing and terrifying and they usually get Isaac into trouble, so he's learned to use gestures to express whatever he's feeling at a particular moment. Not that gestures don't lead to misunderstandings also, but it's easier to make a clumsy touch look like an accident than to try to take back words that sometimes hurt more than a physical blow ever could. He feels like Scott understands this – him – better than anyone he's ever met, probably because Scott is the same, often struggling to find the right words, preferring to fix things, to help and heal and take the pain away with a touch.

So it's normal, Isaac thinks, that he wants to hold Scott's hand again, to say and hear that everything is okay without using words that would do nothing but complicate what should be effortless and natural.

But Scott lifts his hand to bite at a fingernail before Isaac can grab it, and then Isaac's fingers are gripping a denim-clad thigh, which, well, that wasn't the plan.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Scott frowning for a second, and Isaac gulps audibly, too dumbstruck to do anything else. He doesn't even notice that Scott is moving his arm again until his hand comes to rest on top of Isaac's, giving it another gentle squeeze, innocent and reassuring.

Isaac needs to take a deep breath anyway.

It's when they're leaving the town behind, at some point between _let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain _and the sun starting to burn too bright and too hot for a fall afternoon, that Isaac realizes he's way in over his head.

/ / /

"So, why you?"

"Huh?"

They're at a cozy Mexican restaurant in another small town that Isaac couldn't be bothered to remember the name of, reds and oranges dancing across the sky as the sun sets. Isaac is definitely tired now, and he would suggest they find a motel if his mouth wasn't full, but he's a teenage boy and he's starving and the food is delicious. They'll talk about it later.

Scott shifts in his seat, and Isaac could tell that he's uncomfortable even without werewolf senses. He just doesn't know why.

"Scott?"

"It's just – I mean, Stiles could have done this too, you know, the whole road trip thing. You didn't have to – I mean I would've understood if you wanted to, like, just – it would've been fine if you – if Stiles – "

"Scott, hey," Isaac interjects with a sigh. His voice cracks and he hates it but that's nothing compared to the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He should have expected this, really. Of course Scott wishes his best friend was here instead of him, after all it's always been Scott and Stiles, not Scott and Isaac. He should have known. And this shouldn't hurt as much as it does. "Look, I know I'm not Stiles – "

"No! Shit, no – dude, that's not – that's not what I meant," Scott sputters and all but leaps over the table to grab Isaac's left hand. "I just – I thought you'd rather, you know, spend time with Allison now that you're – " he trails off, making a vague hand gesture, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand what that's supposed to mean. He also lets Isaac's hand slip out of his.

And – oh. That. That's another thing they don't really talk about, Isaac's relationship with Allison. That and Scott's Alpha-red eyes and that one night when Isaac was hiding under a bed and Scott was giving up and Stiles had no choice but to be even braver than usual; and now there's a certain FBI agent that they can add to the list.

They keep piling up, the things they don't talk about. Isaac thinks that one day they'll end up buried under an avalanche of words they were too afraid to say.

"I mean," Scott continues, his voice small, "I know what it's like, being with her. She's amazing, she really is, and sometimes it's hard not to get caught up in –" another hand gesture, accompanied by an embarrassed laugh, "Shit, I'm sorry, man, I don't even know what I'm trying to – I mean, I'm just saying, it would be fine if you – "

"Chose her over you?"

Scott nods.

And that hurts in so many ways and for so many reasons that Isaac has trouble breathing for a second. He's sure that it doesn't have anything to do with the ice baths because, surprisingly, they actually did talk about that and agreed it wouldn't have worked any other way. It's not about Scott being jealous because he isn't; Isaac knows he genuinely meant it when he said he was okay with Isaac and Allison being together, because that's the kind of guy Scott is – he only wants his loved ones to be happy, even if it means that he's going to get his heart broken. And it actually hurts, knowing that sometimes Scott has trouble understanding how much he means to others. It's a mind-numbing pain that flows through Isaac's veins and covers his bones and fills him with disappointment because he doesn't know how to make Scott's self-doubt go away, how to turn his insecurities to dust and make him see just how important he is and how much they all love him, that they won't love him any less if he doesn't always live up to the ridiculously high standards he's set for himself.

Just because he doesn't bring it up, it doesn't mean that Isaac doesn't notice how Scott frowns more than he smiles these days, how his shoulders slump when he thinks no one is looking, how the boy who used to be so full of light and hope has become jaded and overcautious, bruised and battered and broken. And Isaac is terrified that one day he'll wake up to the smell of gasoline and Stiles won't be there this time and it will be too late and nothing will matter anymore. Not without Scott.

"You're my Alpha," Isaac says then, sounding a hell of a lot more confident than he feels. If they can talk about him and Allison, they can talk about this, too. He needs to say it and Scott needs to hear it, they've been dancing around the issue for too long now and it got them nowhere. "I chose you, Scott. I will always choose you."

And maybe Scott meant romantic relationships while Isaac is talking pack dynamics, but maybe the lines between them are already so blurred that it's becoming increasingly difficult to pick up on the differences, so maybe – _maybe_ – they actually mean the same thing.

Isaac catches a glimpse of a smile before Scott ducks his head, dimples out in full force, white teeth sinking into a soft-looking bottom lip, and Isaac has to remind his heart to stop trying to jump out of his chest right now.

/ / /

They're lying on the hood of Stiles' Jeep, sharing ear buds, _can you pick me up on your way home, we'll talk about love_, staring up at dark, heavy clouds. Isaac almost wishes they could count stars instead but then he remembers this is real life and not a chick flick.

Scott asked if they could spend the night there when he spotted the abandoned forest road, eyes wide and bright and hopeful, and that's all it took for Isaac to agree instantly, thoughts of a warm room and a comfortable bed completely forgotten. He likes this better anyway, lying next to Scott, theirs hands brushing every now and then, causing a pleasant buzz to spread through his body. And if he shivers and Scott notices, he can always say it's because he's cold.

"There's a blanket in the trunk," Scott says suddenly, voice soft and sleepy. It's so endearing that Isaac can't help but smile.

"'M fine," he mumbles and closes his eyes. A second later he gives up any pretense of not wanting to snuggle, throws an arm over Scott's waist and a long leg over his hips. It's a wolf thing, he'll say if anyone asks. It's a natural craving for affection and physical contact after being touch-starved for so long. It's Scott knowing what he needs and being willing to give it to him. It's Isaac not being afraid to let Scott touch him. It's a Scott and Isaac thing, he supposes.

Scott starts to laugh. "Yeah, okay, you giant octopus," he jokes and puts an arm around Isaac's shoulders to pull him closer. He shifts until Isaac's head is resting on his chest and he can run his fingers through the mass of curls, nails scraping gently against Isaac's scalp.

Isaac falls asleep thinking _I've missed you_ and dreams of being brave enough to say the words out loud someday.


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes up with an old woolen blanket wrapped around him instead of Scott's arms and his heart fills with terror before he can even open his eyes. But then there's a pair of soft lips on his cheek and a warm hand on his shoulder and Isaac thinks about words left unsaid that he pretends he can hear anyway.

"Wake up, I found something," Scott whispers. Isaac can hear him grinning, excitement and anticipation coloring his voice.

He mumbles something about Saturday mornings and wanting to sleep longer, but he does open his eyes eventually and he's greeted with a blinding smile that makes his stomach do cartwheels and his chest feel all tight and funny in the best way. It's been like that for a while now if he's being honest, but now is not the time for life-changing conversations.

"Morning," he says groggily, not expecting the second kiss Scott places on his cheekbone.

"Morning, sunshine. Now get your ass up and come on."

The creek Scott found – "Heard, actually," he tells Isaac, grinning proudly – is shallow and the water's too cold, but freezing water seems to be their thing these days and it's not like they can catch a cold, so.

Scott strips down to his boxers and Isaac decides that's where he has to draw the line, starts shaking his head, "Scott, no. Scott, you're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding. Scott!" but then he's taking his shirt and jeans off too, and just like that they revert to being six year olds, splashing each other and yelping and laughing, pushing each other into the water, tiny rocks leaving marks on their backs for what feels like less than a second.

Scott is looking carefree for the first time in months, allowing himself to let go, to stop worrying, to just enjoy the moment for what it is, and Isaac wishes he could do the same but the nagging voice in the back of his head keeps reminding him that less than twenty-four hours ago Scott was the very opposite of cheerful and relaxed, and this is not the kind of change that comes so easily, so suddenly; it takes time, it happens gradually, it's not like a switch you can press to turn the worries off. But Scott's smile is wide and his eyes bright, and Isaac can't bring himself to talk about darkness and heavy hearts when he has the sun so close to him.

He thinks about happiness but maybe it's still too early for that; happiness is tricky and Isaac has learned to be wary of its vivid colors and tantalizing perfumes. Being cautiously optimistic is something he can work with, though, and if he's also feeling a bit relieved, it's still an emotion he can keep under control.

"Dude, stop spacing out," Scott complains, mock indignant voice bringing Isaac back to reality. Or maybe what makes him snap out of his restless daydream is the way Scott's fingers curl around his wrists, thumbs rubbing gentle circles against sensitive skin, sending sparks down Isaac's spine, heat spreading from his toes to the roots of his hair despite standing in cold water.

His breath hitches involuntarily. He can feel his eyes widening, his heart going into overdrive because of a small gesture that Isaac is clearly reading too much into. It brings back memories, hazy and coated in fear until his body recalls Scott's touch, a single life-saving flame in a sea of ice, soothing and safe, grounding him, helping him remember how to control himself. It has the opposite effect this time, setting his every nerve ending alight, and Isaac knows that the sensible thing to do would be to break free of Scott's grip, laugh it off like they always do, just another accident, another harmless joke. He's used to moments like this but it's different when there's someone else around and standing too close with arms brushing and thighs rubbing together when they're sitting on the couch or on Scott's bed or on the floor trying to study really is as innocent as it looks, just friendly touches with no underlying meaning. But it's just the two of them now, and the air feels too thin and Scott's skin looks so soft and Isaac wants –

Wants. He simply wants.

To touch and feel and taste, to let his fingers trace the tattoo on Scott's arm, to press his lips to Scott's crooked jaw and run his teeth over his neck, to write novels on Scott's body using only his tongue and fingertips.

He isn't sure what he's allowed to do, there is a line they haven't crossed yet and maybe it isn't the right moment to push and hope that this time Scott will push back, but he leans down a bit, eyes still on Scott's lips, breathing becoming ragged and uneven when he feels Scott's hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in. Isaac closes his eyes, his long fingers bump-bump-bumping over Scott's ribs, sliding down slowly to his hip, and Isaac can't help but marvel as he strokes the smooth skin. He dips his thumb into the waistband of Scott's boxer shorts, hesitantly brushing over the jutting hipbone.

Scott jerks away.

Shit.

Instantly Isaac's arousal turns into panic, heart clenching in fear almost painfully as he watches Scott take a few steps back. Scott is an open book most of the time, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, and Isaac's learned over the last few months what every wide-eyed stare means, has learned to distinguish and read every twitch of Scott's mouth, but he can't for the life of him figure out what is going through Scott's head right now, what the wide brown eyes are trying to tell him, and it hurts because this is the boy he's come to think of as his closest friend, but right now he feels as if he's looking at a stranger, at some ethereal golden mystery shrouded in icy fog. And Isaac hates it because this is still Scott, the kid who told Isaac to be careful even when they barely knew each other, and Isaac should be able to tell what Scott is thinking, if he's upset or angry or grossed out by Isaac's actions. But he can't and that scares him more than anything. He doesn't remember how to act around a Scott who isn't his best friend. So he keeps staring, feeling tears prick at his eyes, silently begging whoever is listening to let Scott be the first to make a move.

"Isaac, man, get out."

Well, apparently someone actually is listening.

"Dude, seriously, your lips are turning blue."

Oh. Huh.

It's hilarious – it's pathetic – how his body wasn't affected by the cold water when Scott was close to him. But then Scott was gone and so was the pleasurable warmth and Isaac knows it's all in his head and he doesn't really have an excuse for not realizing that he was shivering.

Scott starts to rub his shoulders, his arms, brows furrowed and eyes concerned, and Isaac can feel himself relaxing. He wants to laugh and cry at the same time, because he's an idiot who has no control over his urges but of course Scott doesn't hold that against him and only worries about Isaac's well-being.

Isaac thinks he should apologize. He wants to apologize. He wants to thank Scott. He wants to give him words that matter, precious words that make a difference and build galaxies but it's been a while since he's last said them to a living person and not to a grave, and he doesn't think they would come out right.

He doesn't say anything.

/ / /

They change into fresh clothes when they get back to the Jeep, and if Isaac pointedly ignores the looks Scott keeps giving him – well, it's no one's business but his own. It's getting easier to breathe once he begins to realize that Scott doesn't seem to hate him now, that he hasn't lost his best friend yet, and while he is thankful for that, it's still glaringly obvious that something's changed between them. Rejection is something Isaac is used to, but this doesn't compare to that one time when he asked Lydia out, thinking he actually had a shot with her and, unsurprisingly, she only laughed at him. It had been embarrassing back then, to listen to her disdainful giggle and the condescending tone of her voice. This, though, Scott rejecting him – this feels like swallowing a gigantic bag of ice cubes, leaving him numb to his very core until the bitter disappointment starts to set in and fills every void.

It also makes him feel like a terrible person because he has Allison, and who in their right mind would want to make out with their current girlfriend's ex-boyfriend?

Clearly, Isaac has some issues.

"I'm driving!" Scott announces suddenly. He sounds cheerful and relaxed and nothing like Isaac feels. His heartbeat is still slightly off, however.

Good.

"We should go back to town, grab some breakfast. I'm starving, man."

Isaac nods, doesn't even care where they're going anymore. Maybe this whole trip was a bad idea. He lets out a short self-deprecating laugh before getting in the car. Good intentions and bad ideas, that's who he is.

He's sitting with his shoulders hunched, arms wrapped tightly around himself, wishing he could disappear into thin air or melt into the seat. He hasn't felt so out of place in really long time, especially not around Scott, who is gently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to the radio as if nothing happened.

Isaac can't say he's surprised that Scott doesn't want to talk about it and he doesn't exactly mind either. He's mostly disappointed in himself because the whole point of the trip was to help Scott and fix their friendship, but instead he ended up with a royal fuck up on his hands. Maybe ignoring what happened really is the best idea.

Scott turns the radio down, sighing deeply. "Please stop it," he moans, throwing Isaac a pleading look.

"What?"

"That! Stop it with the kicked puppy face and stop thinking about it. Also, stop thinking about apologizing, you did nothing wrong."

Isaac takes a deep a breath. Did Scott become an Alpha or a mind reader?

"I don't know what came over me," he croaks out, disregarding the way his heartbeat stutters. Scott doesn't call him out on it either. "I just – I didn't want to make you uncomfortable and I'm sorry if – "

"Isaac, we really don't have to – "

"Can we please stop already with this thing where we don't talk about what's happening to us?" he asks exasperatedly. Scott flinches but Isaac refuses to let that impress him. "Just let me say it, okay? You're my best friend and I always feel safe around you, and I'm pretty sure you know why that's kind of a huge deal for me." He notices how Scott grips the steering wheel a bit tighter for a second, how he inhales through his nose and clenches his jaw. And maybe it's wrong but it makes something warm bloom inside Isaac's chest cavity and his lips quirk just a little before he continues: "I want you to feel the same around me."

Scott snorts. "Dude, you beat up an Alpha for me, remember? I think I know that I'm safe when I'm with you."

"Yeah, that's exactly it! And that's how it should be all the time! And what I did back there was totally out of line and – "

"And it didn't make me uncomfortable," Scott cuts in with a small shrug of his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the road. His heartbeat is steady. Isaac doesn't dare to open his mouth, only keeps blinking repeatedly. "You just, I don't know," Scott shrugs again, frowning as if in deep thought, "you surprised me, I guess? Like, I wasn't expecting that? So I kinda freaked out. I mean, I didn't – I had no idea what to do, because dude, seriously, I know Stiles keeps offering to make out with me but everyone and their mother can tell that he's kidding."

Isaac can't help chuckling at that. Okay, so maybe he stumbled over thin air the first time he heard Stiles say something about experimenting with Scott, but he's learned by now that's basically their running joke. Then again, he doesn't think Stiles' curiosity is that bewildering considering he says he's been in love with the same girl since third grade.

"Really, never?" he asks grinning because he already knows the answer to that. It's a good sign that he's feeling comfortable enough to annoy Scott again. "Nothing? No awkward first kiss when you were like twelve or something?"

"Oh my G – dude, seriously!" Scott rolls his eyes exaggeratedly – affectionately, trying to bite back a fond smile that Isaac has committed to memory – and punches Isaac in the shoulder before starting to fumble with the radio knobs and turning the volume up again. "No, I've never kissed a guy if that's what you're asking."

Isaac does a double take at that, breath catching in his throat. Well. Just because Scott decided to share that particular piece of information it doesn't mean that Isaac has to do something about it. Scott was simply stating facts and the rise in Isaac's pulse rate is completely uncalled for. He thinks there's a good chance that he's going to either say or do something unbelievably stupid in about ten seconds – he's still learning to adjust to the idea that he needs to control himself around his best friend, so. But Scott successfully distracts him by starting to sing _I knew you were trouble when you walked in_, loudly and purposely off-key.

Isaac bursts out laughing, surprised for a moment by how genuine his laughter sounds. Which is ridiculous, because he's getting what he wanted – Scott's smiles aren't weary anymore and they're feeling at ease around each other, the brick wall between them seemingly gone. He should be grateful, he tells himself, chastising the delusional part of him that craves more than friendship from Scott. He's never been greedy and he's definitely not going to start now.

/ / /

They agree not to drive any farther – if it's taken them one day to get to here, it will take just as long to return to Beacon Hills and Isaac promised Melissa they'd be back by Sunday evening – so they decide to explore the town, pretending to be tourists for a while because Scott thinks it would be fun.

("Technically, we're not pretending. We _are_ tourists.

"Yeah, but not _British_ tourists, Isaac.")

Breakfast consists of too many pancakes with too much syrup and free chocolate glazed donuts that Scott somehow charms the waitress into bringing them while Isaac tries to contain his inexplicable urge to giggle. It's a good thing they can't get sick.

Scott calls Stiles later on and the cheery "Yo Scotty!" he's greeted with is all Isaac hears before he busies himself with Scott's iPod. He doesn't want to listen in on their conversation; Scott will him if something's happened, if there's anything they should worry about. But Scott is smiling, throwing his head back and laughing at whatever Stiles is telling him, and Isaac is more than content to just walk alongside him, hands in his pockets, earphones in, volume up, _we stay up late and draw the lines to every constellation_.

He's not unhappy, he realizes, feeling as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. So maybe his heart starts fluttering when Scott nudges his hip and puts a hand on the small of his back, but it's fine. His attraction for Scott clearly isn't going to just dissipate into thin air but as long as he doesn't act on it there's nothing to worry about. It's been enough until now, being just friends with Scott. It'll have to be enough from now on, too. The pang of regret he's feeling is a little unexpected, though, and, admittedly, it throws him off balance. He's never really been one to regret not doing something. Either it mattered enough to go for it without hesitation, or it didn't and then there was no point wasting time wondering what could have been. Life goes on, it doesn't wait for anyone to sort their unfulfilled fantasies.

Besides, it hurts. Getting in lost in a dream and then waking up to a reality that's so very unlike your make-believe world. So no, he doesn't do that. Or he didn't used to.

Then again, he could probably fill a dozen books with the things he never thought he'd do before meeting Scott.

/ / /

Melissa wants to talk to both of them so Scott puts her speaker and they spend minutes reassuring one another that everything and everyone is fine. Isaac and Scott are sitting cross-legged on a park bench, facing each other, bent over the phone in Scott's lap; Isaac has trouble looking away from where their knees are touching.

It's familiar and unusual all at once. It's always been there – the rush, Isaac's hope for _more than_, the amalgam of emotions that comes with Scott's touch. But it never was something Isaac couldn't control. So he did _look_ at Scott sometimes, in a way that's different from how friends look at each other, and maybe he still does, but he's constantly careful not to let Scott notice. Staring longingly is harmless and up until this morning he never thought he'd dare to do more than that, but being away from everyone, from people who he's afraid would tell him that he's not enough for Scott – it feels like being freed from the heavy, invisible chains he's had wrapped around his ankles for quite some time now.

Because Scott thinks he's enough. Scott wants Isaac around, cares about him, trusts him, protects him and maybe – maybe he actually doesn't realize what it means, that Isaac could be the key to a door that's been locked until now. Or maybe that's not what this is, and Isaac's wishful thinking is getting the best of him once again, but he'll never know for sure if he doesn't take a chance. And he wants to. Because some things are worth it and sometimes Isaac is brave.

So when Scott laughs again, Isaac leans forward and places a tentative kiss on the corner of his mouth, feeling Scott's laughter in his veins, flooding his senses, hot chocolate on a cold October afternoon. No apologies this time.

Scott's eyes go wide for a second, his shoulders tense. But then he breathes out slowly, and Isaac can practically see the tension seeping out of his body as Scott ducks his head, looking down at the phone that carries Melissa's voice with a shy smile on lips. He nudges Isaac's knee with his own.

"We're okay, mom."

/ / /

They find a small music shop and the owner lets Scott play different guitars, nodding along to the melodies, giving Scott something that looks like an approving smile every now and then. Isaac hovers nearby, pretending to be interested in a set of drumsticks even though he doesn't know the first thing about drums or any other instrument and the most he can do is tell acoustic and electric guitars apart.

Scott, though – he's good. And it's not like Isaac hasn't noticed the guitar in Scott's room, but he's never heard him play, not even after moving in; it's perfectly understandable that he's overtly amazed for a moment. After a while he stops trying to pretend that he cares about anything other than the song Scott is playing and just leans against the wall with his hands in his back pockets and something that he's sure is a ridiculous, silly, infatuated look on his face.

He pictures another life, no werewolves or hunters or even asshole fathers, just normal, human teenagers with normal, human dreams. He pictures Scott on stage in front of a roaring crowd, shining brighter than the sun and all of the stage lights combined, and Stiles behind the drums, full of life as always but carefree instead of weighed down by worries. He pictures Melissa and the Sheriff waiting backstage, hearts filled to the brim with joy and pride, never having to fear that their sons' lives are in danger. He pictures himself, a blank page of a story waiting to be written, craving words that neither he nor Scott would be afraid to say and hear.

He pictures a life where things could be simpler and the truth wouldn't hurt so much and he could tell the whole world what Scott means to him. Where he could scream at the top of his lungs that Scott feels like coming home after traveling for too long, looking for something that wasn't worth it in the first place. Where he wouldn't have to feel guilty for the sharp intake of breath he has to take when Scott looks up at him, singing _I'll find you when we both are kids_ _again_ in a deep, gentle voice, smiling at Isaac in a way he never has before.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite Scott's initial reluctance they do get a motel room that night, lured by thoughts of hot showers and fluffy pillows. Scott's uneasiness is almost palpable at first, almost physical, a heavy armor that burdens Scott instead of protecting him, and seeing him like this makes Isaac's heart clench and his fingers tremble because he knows and he understands and he wants that memory gone, too. Even if neither of them brings up what happened the last time they spent a night at a motel, even if there's nothing here to remind them of unspoken fears and weaknesses, of overwhelming feelings of guilt and self-blame, Isaac knows better than anyone that the demons inside are never truly quiet and ignoring them only works for so long. So he tries to replace the memory of bright red sparks and the smell of gasoline with stupid jokes and genuine laughter and touches that linger too long to be simply friendly but not enough to cross the barely-there line.

He stays in the bathroom while Scott showers, brushing his teeth and doing his best Bruce Wayne impression which always annoys Stiles because "dude, no fair, I'm Batman," but Scott thinks it's hilarious and, unsurprisingly, Scott's opinion is what matters most to Isaac. It's easy to forget that they only have a few more hours left of this, of not thinking about everything they're running from, everything they left behind and have no choice but to return to, everything that's following them around everywhere, buried deep inside of hearts still too young to understand why fate decided this is what their lives should be like.

And maybe it's a terrible thought and Isaac is a terrible person for thinking it, but he wonders what it would be like if it didn't have to end. If they didn't go back home and just kept driving, still no destination in mind other than happiness. It could work, he tells himself. They could make it work. Running away and not coming back until they find whatever it is that they're looking for, whatever it is that it's missing, leaving ugly, pain-filled holes inside of them. Until they aren't lost boys anymore.

But it would be selfish and even if Isaac wants to be selfish when it comes to Scott, even if he's sure he could be, because the only thing he ever asked for was a bite that turned out to be more of a curse than a blessing and Isaac would have most likely turned into one of the monsters from all those almost forgotten stories Camden used to read to him forever ago if it hadn't been for Scott, so he probably could afford to be selfish for once and want to keep this boy who went from nothing to everything that's good in Isaac's world in the blink of an eye. But he can't because he's not the only one who needs Scott, and Isaac happens to care about those people too, and he knows that taking Scott away from them would be like telling someone they would never see the sun again.

So he takes his fantasy of running away and puts it in a tiny box that he'll try not to open too soon again, and pushes it back to the far corners of his mind, where there are no windows or cracks for the golden light to seep in, where every ridiculous hope and dream dies if left alone for long enough. He has many Scott-related boxes locked in there.

Scott doesn't leave either when it's Isaac's turn to shower, just sits on the cold tile floor with his knees drawn up to his chest and busies himself with his phone.

Isaac pulls the shower curtain shut with a small smile on his lips and airplanes in his stomach.

Which doesn't make much sense if he's logical about this, because they are not in danger for once and there is no need to constantly keep an eye on each other, but they do nevertheless. He doesn't even know when this whole being overprotective of one another thing started but – he likes it. It still knocks the air out of him sometimes, realizing that he'd stop at nothing to protect Scott. It's a bit scary and it's even scarier to know that Scott is willing to do the same and maybe repeatedly risking their lives for each other isn't exactly smart in the long run but Isaac feels that by now neither of them could stop even if they tried.

It's wonderful, really.

Scott is talking to Stiles when Isaac steps out of the shower, laughing quietly at Stiles' story about strawberry jam and screwdrivers. Isaac decides he's better off not knowing but Scott keeps laughing and Isaac can't say he's surprised by the sudden wave of affection he feels for Stiles. They still find themselves at odds every once in a while, he and Stiles, and Isaac can't tell if it's because they're so different or because they're so alike. They'll both scratch and claw and bite and lie through their teeth if they have to, if it means keeping their loved ones safe. They'll do it without an ounce of regret and smirks on their faces, and maybe they'll use different means but they'll always have the same goal. And in the middle of it all, every single time, is Scott. It always comes down to Scott, for both Stiles and Isaac. And it's different, the way they care about Scott, but it's just as intense and it matters just as much, and Isaac thinks that if anyone can understand why he's always putting his life on the line for Scott and Scott for him, it's Stiles. Because Scott and Stiles were a team long before Isaac came along, and now they're bound by something dark and confusing that's messing with their heads, something that Isaac will never be a part of and he's glad for it, in a way. He'll help Allison as best he can if it comes to it, but Scott and Stiles – there's nothing he could do for them. No one could. If worse comes to worst, Scott and Stiles will be the ones to pull each other out of the darkness.

"Nah, we're going out," Scott says as Isaac puts a clean shirt on and attempts to do something about his hair; it's getting too long again, light brown curls hanging loosely over his forehead. It's also getting uncooperative.

The shriek Stiles lets out the following moment is – unexpected, to say the least, so Isaac has an excuse for actually flinching and almost dropping the comb in the sink.

"Dude, speaker, now!" Stiles demands and for half a second he sounds so unnervingly serious that Isaac would be worried if he didn't recognize Stiles' I'm-being-overdramatic voice. He's not sure what it says about him that he does recognize it.

Scott chuckles. "He can hear you anyway, dumbass."

"But I can't hear him, you cretin! Put me on speaker!"

It turns out that Stiles is worried because apparently Scott gets drinks sent when they go out and, "What if it's spiked with Wolfsbane, huh? What then, Scotty? You know shit always happens when Wolfsbane is involved! Someone needs to look after you!"

Isaac doesn't point out that he's a werewolf too and therefore would be affected by Wolfsbane as well should someone spike their drinks with the one plant that's poisonous to them. Because that sounds perfectly plausible. On whatever planet Stiles lives on.

Scott gives Isaac a look before rolling his eyes. Isaac nods, mouthing _same_ and trying to stifle a laugh as he kneels in front of where Scott is still sitting on the floor. He's not laughing at Stiles, honestly. More like laughing at the idea that Stiles thinks Isaac needs to be told to look after Scott, because seriously. Seriously.

"Dude, come on, we're not in Beacon Hills, no one even knows – "

"That's your excuse? _That_?" Stiles butts in, sounding – outrageously outraged. It's Isaac's turn to roll his eyes. "Oh my God, the young and naïve! And how exactly – "

"I won't let him out of my sight, Stilinski," Isaac promises, part annoyed, part amused. It's basically his default mood whenever he's being around or talking to Stiles and he's willing to bet anything he's not the only one who feels this way. "Really. I'll even follow him to the bathroom, okay? Like, even now, we just showered together and – " Oh. That came out wrong.

Scott bursts out laughing at the same moment Stiles groans, "TMI, dude, TMI."

Isaac starts shaking his head furiously before he remembers Stiles can't see him. Scott can, on the other hand, and the blush Isaac can feel rising to his cheeks must seem particularly hilarious to him since he doesn't stop cackling. "That's not why I – no! Not like – Scott, stop laughing!" – Scott only laughs harder – "I didn't mean – Scott, seriously!"

"Yeah, I get it," Stiles says loudly and then, "Scott, shut it, I can smell his embarrassment and I don't even have wolfy senses."

It's not often that Isaac feels gratitude towards Stiles but he definitely does now. Scott's laughter subsides into soft giggling, and his eyes are gentlegentlegentle and affectionate when he puts his hands on Isaac's thighs and presses his lips to Isaac's cheek. Isaac's heart skips too many beats to count.

Stiles is still talking, and Isaac thinks he should be paying attention, he'll have plenty of time later to think about this and analyze every little moment, every little movement, the way Scott looks down at his phone, smiling shyly, allowing Isaac to take his hand and intertwine their fingers. And he doesn't know what exactly it is that they're doing, what Scott wants, what he himself wants, what he can still ask for before overstepping his bounds, and he doesn't want to screw this up but he needs – he needs answers.

" – and Agent Douchebag keeps asking about you. I keep telling him he can stick it."

Scott chuckles then, sad and small and Isaac remembers that this trip was supposed to be about making Scott feel better, not about his own confusing and possibly misplaced feelings. It's not the right time, and maybe they'll talk about it at some point, maybe this is a box that Isaac has to close for now but there's no need to lock it. Maybe he'll get the answers to question he has yet to form and his vision will stop being so fuzzy around the edges and he will finally be able to see clearly. Later, maybe. But not now, not when Scott's spark dims a bit and Isaac feels hatred boiling inside of him, coursing through his veins, hatred for a man he barely even knows.

A man who he left Scott and Melissa and, really, that's all Isaac needs to know about him.

"I, uh – thanks, man," Scott tells Stiles, sounding resigned and exhausted stumbling over the first words, voice becoming gradually more relaxed and grateful and full of love, and then he smiles, genuine and fond as if Stiles could see him and Stiles can't but he probably knows anyway, Isaac thinks, Stiles can probably hear the inflection of Scott's voice and interpret it even better than Isaac can.

Scott sighs when he hangs up, and that's something Stiles can't hear anymore, but Isaac does and he clenches his fists involuntarily – or not, he can't tell right now. It doesn't happen when he's thinking about his own father – that's a chapter he's read thoroughly countless times and it hurts less with every passing day and every loving smile he gets from Melissa and every pat on the shoulder from the Sheriff and every helpful tip or advice that Chris Argent offers; small reminders that not all parents hate their children, small reminders that make all the difference in the world. Because then he can forget about sharp objects and the damn freezer for a while, and instead starts thinking about his father fixing his bike or teaching him how to swim or that one time when he wanted to impress Isaac's grandmother by trying to cook spaghetti and failing miserably. So no, he doesn't get angry when he's thinking about his dad, not anymore, because he chooses to focus on the good memories, chooses to learn how to forgive.

It's different when it comes to Scott's father and his patronizing demeanor, and if Scott and Melissa and Stiles and the Sheriff – the kindest people Isaac has ever met – all treat him the way they do, Isaac thinks he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. So he gets angry and he's being rude more often than not, always talking back and making Scott's father seethe, but he sees Melissa's guilty little smile every time he does it, so no, he doesn't feel bad about it. And he knows he's not necessarily helping either, but, honestly, his goal is just to make Scott's father feel like the asshole that he is, to let him know he doesn't deserve a son like Scott, that he never deserved a woman like Melissa.

He only feels bad when Scott tells him to stop being a dick because he's not worth the trouble. And it would be fine if Scott meant his father but Isaac fears he's talking about himself and that's – that fills him with anger all over again because he knows what it's like when someone makes you think so lowly of yourself but there's no way, absolutely no way he's going to let anyone do that to Scott.

"Hey," he hears then, feels Scott's hands on his own, unclenching his fists. His claws are sharpsharpsharp and the wounds in his palms are starting to heal. They don't even hurt that much but Isaac gasps, stupidly, stunned and embarrassed because this is something he has learned to control and he can't explain why he didn't realize that he'd started turning.

"I – I'm sorry, Scott, I – " he starts but Scott shakes his head and pulls him closer, nuzzling his neck, running his fingers gently over the marks in Isaac's palms. Isaac wonders absently why it wasn't necessary for Scott to use his Alpha voice to bring him back this time. He's not entirely sure he wants to know the answer.

"Don't," Scott says, soft and reassuring. "Don't apologize, it's okay. And don't – don't think about it. He's not worth it."

Isaac nods because yeah, okay, he can do that if it's what Scott wants. He thinks he'd probably give him the moon if Scott asked for it.

He wonders if Scott knows how much Isaac already belongs to him. Not as part of Scott's pack, just – sometimes people leave marks on you, maybe even without meaning to but they do and they make you theirs, you belong to them and without them you would be – well, not lost. You could still function but it wouldn't feel right. You'd be incomplete. He wonders if there's any way he could tell this to Scott without sounding too desperate. And Scott would disagree, of course he would, telling Isaac that he doesn't belong to anyone, not to him or to Derek or to anyone else, that he's his own person. But Isaac thinks – well, no. There's a part of him that belongs to Scott now and will probably always belong to him.

/ / /

Scott relies mostly on his sense of smell. Isaac remembers vividly how they met, with Scott sniffing basically the entire lacrosse team to find _him_, and then they were colliding and locking golden eyes for the first time and Isaac asked for something he had no right to, and instead of keeping Isaac's secret Scott decided he was going to help him. He remembers sniffing Stiles' clothes that night after the game and not being able to memorize his smell as fast as Scott did, which back then Isaac had thought it had to do with Scott and Stiles being friends since forever, but it's been months and Isaac still has trouble identifying scents. It's simply not his forte, his nose. He's better at picking up on sounds, has always been, even before the bite. Apparently he's learned something by listening closely to his father's footsteps, measuring his anger by their heaviness and the way his breathing would deepen.

So he follows shrill, happy voices and rapid heartbeats, the sound of clinking glasses and muffled music, while Scott lets himself be guided by the smell of perfume and cologne and everything that Isaac can't distinguish that well.

And it would be great, really, if the line at the club wasn't so long. Suddenly Isaac feels deeply discouraged.

But Scott shrugs like it's nothing, takes Isaac's hand, and then they're heading towards – well, definitely not the end of the line, and Isaac doesn't get it until he does.

It doesn't take long for them to find the back door or for Scott to rip off the handle when they discover it's locked. Scott shrugs innocently and offers a crooked grin. Isaac doesn't even ask.

The smell of alcohol and sweat and arousal hits Isaac as soon as they enter the club, _hey, I'mma dance on the clouds today_, the heavy bass settling in his bones ten seconds later, and he grabs Scott's arm instinctively, eyes still trying to adjust to the mix of darkness and too bright lights, blues and greens and purples dancing through the air, painting nonsensical patterns on the bodies moving around them. Isaac can count on one hand the times he's been to a club and while he is not nervous, he's not exactly used to it either, the complete lack of personal space and countless strong fragrances and unfamiliar hands all over him overloading his senses. Touching Scott keeps him grounded.

They end up at the bar and Scott orders two Cokes – they can't get drunk, why waste money on alcohol – which prompts the young bartender to raise an eyebrow, like she's finding it hard to believe that's all two teenagers would want. Something – Scott's puppy-dog everything, Isaac guesses – seems to convince her that nothing fishy is going on because there's a soft smile on her lips when she gives them their drinks and maybe her eyes linger on Scott a bit longer than necessary, but Scott doesn't seem to notice and it's not like Isaac is going to mention it to him.

He watches Scott nod his head along to the music, cheerful grin etched on his face, eyes bright and not clouded with worries. And it's ridiculous how pleased Isaac feels because of it but at the same time it's the only thing that makes sense. Because it's what he wanted all along, to see Scott happy and untroubled, to bring back the boy with floppy hair who was bouncing on the balls of his feet after being told he made first line.

Huh. He didn't know he had that memory of Scott. Other than Jackson being – well, Jackson, Isaac doesn't really remember that much from the time when he was the better lacrosse player and Scott and Stiles were those two misfits warming the bench during every game.

"What?" Scott asks suddenly, looking up at Isaac with wide, unassuming eyes, and Isaac –

Isaac grins.

Light. He feels light.

"Nothing," he says shrugging, aiming for casual and missing by a mile because he can't quite keep the joy and delight out of his voice. Scott either doesn't notice or he does but takes pity on Isaac and doesn't call him out on it. Either way, Isaac is grateful. "It's just, you look – you look happy."

Scott grins again, wide and carefree and – beaming. He's beaming. "I am happy," he agrees, taking a sip of his Coke, licking his lips. It's not a gesture that should stand out, Isaac tells himself, but, well. "I mean," Scott continues and Isaac can't help but frown too when he notices the way Scott's brows furrow, "all the shit we left in Beacon Hills, it's still gonna be there when we get back, you know? So I'm just – not thinking about it, I guess. I'm trying to enjoy – this. Now. You and me." He smiles and Isaac smiles back, reaching out to take Scott's hand again, running his thumb over his knuckles.

And maybe – maybe this is it, Isaac thinks, the moment that billions of songs and books are written about, that moment at the end of a movie with music playing softly in the background and fireworks lighting up the navy sky and hearts beating in sync. Maybe he should take a chance and lean down a bit and –

"Hey, wanna dance?"

Maybe he should learn to start acting instead of just planning.

"Yeah, I don't think that's such a good idea," he tells Scott, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. It's not that he doesn't want to, because he really, really does and that's – that's the problem. Because they're clearly not on the same page here, Scott is still just being friendly and Isaac is slowly starting to lose control again and dancing with Scott would be –

It would be different from that time when he was pretending to try to seduce Jackson and had Erica by his side. It would be different because this means something and Isaac would try to impress Scott only to end up making a fool of himself even more than he already has, because Scott doesn't want to be impressed, doesn't want more the way Isaac does and –

It's an all-around bad idea, really.

"Uh. Maybe later?" he suggests then because Scott's face falls and that doesn't necessarily mean anything and it probably doesn't but Isaac can't stand to see Scott looking sad, so. Yeah, he'll dance if he has to and he'll look like a giant idiot and later they'll laugh about it and it will be fine.

He just – he needs to stop trying to turn this into something bigger than it is.

They start talking to a group of girls and at some point end up at their table – they're college juniors, all three of them, celebrating the little one's birthday that night, already a bit tipsy on champagne and fruity vodka cocktails, but still polite and funny and easy to talk to. They don't ask many questions, which Isaac is thankful for, because he doesn't feel like confessing that both he and Scott are underage and running from monsters that they carry inside.

They're all somewhere between casual joking and not-so-casual flirting when the birthday girl asks Scott to dance. And the apologetic looks Scott gives him as she's leading him to the dance floor – it confuses Isaac, because there's nothing to be sorry for, right? It's not Scott's fault that the girl's heartbeat speeds up when she's touching him or that she feels the need to smile prettily at him while Isaac feels the need to punch himself because Scott did ask him to dance and he said no.

So no, he doesn't have the right to feel the way he does. He plasters a pleasant smile on his face, directs his attention to the two girls sitting across from him. They are beautiful, of course they are, and a bit older and apparently they think that he's worth their time, which shouldn't make him feel as good as it does, but, well, he's still seventeen and impressionable. His eyes keep flickering to the dance floor every so often, and he tries to ignore the bitter and heavy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach but it only seems to be growing the harder he tries to fight it and he wonders briefly if this is how Allison felt every time Erica was hitting on Scott.

Which is a stupid comparison and suddenly a wave of guilt crashes over him, cold and grey and suffocating, because he's a hypocrite and a terrible boyfriend and he should probably text Allison to let her know he's still alive.

He doesn't. Instead he darts another glance at Scott before quickly looking away.

The girl Scott is dancing with is blonde and blue-eyed and petite and nothing like Allison. Isaac has to admit that they look good together, a beautiful contrast, caramel and porcelain, night and day, light and dark, and every other shitty antithesis Isaac can bitterly think of. And it's all this bitterness that makes him angry because what exactly is he supposed to do with it? He keeps trying, pointlessly, to swallow it back down but every time he does it only rises faster in his throat, even bitterer, spreading through him like wildfire. And he doesn't like it and he doesn't like himself very much right now and he definitely doesn't like that Scott's hands are on her hips and his mouth on the back of her neck, _so tell me you love me, only for tonight_, but his eyes are never leaving Isaac's, and, honestly, sending mixed signals is the last thing Isaac wanted Scott to do.

But here they are and Isaac wants to get up and ask Scott what the fuck because there's no way he doesn't realize what he's doing.

But instead of confronting Scott he keeps his mouth shut and sulks because sometimes he's a coward who doesn't dare to fight for what he wants. He's jiggling his leg when Scott comes back to sit down next to him, and Isaac can't tell if the hand Scott puts on his knee is meant to calm him down or rile him up. He pushes it away.

Scott doesn't say anything.

It's only after the girls decide they should head home and the two of them end up at the bar again that Scott brings it up.

"Wanna tell me what I did to make you turn into Edward Cullen?"

Isaac raises his eyebrows. What?

"Well, you're all – " Scott starts, gesturing with his hands and shaking his head, "I don't know, broody and moody and Derek-ey and I thought we were supposed to have fun. So. What did I do?"

Isaac huffs. "Nothing."

"Oh really? Then why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like – Isaac, seriously?"

Scott's eyes go all wide and hurt, and yeah, maybe Isaac is being a bit of a dick and this is completely unnecessary because he could just tell Scott what's wrong. Except he doesn't know how, and until he finds a way to tell Scott that he was jealous without actually saying that he was jealous he's not going to admit anything. He settles for a half-assed apology that only manages to piss Scott off, and so they spend the next minutes scowling and not talking to each other.

It's ridiculous, the whole scene and their behavior, because they're running out of time. And sometimes it feels like everything is okay again but then moments like this come out of nowhere, confusing and nerve-wracking, where Isaac's world is once again turned upside down and he doesn't understand why there's something there that needs fixing when everything was fine just one second ago. He doesn't have the right words to mend what's broken. Or maybe he's simply too afraid to say the things that are worth saying.

He thinks he can hear a clock ticking but maybe that's just his heartbeat.

It's when a guy sends Scott a drink – and suddenly Isaac regrets not taking Stiles' warning seriously – that he decides he's had enough, whisper-shouts "Dance with me," and all but drags Scott to the dance floor, not even waiting for an answer. It's not like he can fuck this up even more, so.

Scott doesn't do anything at first, doesn't move, doesn't even try to pretend he's dancing. He's looking genuinely puzzled, staring up at Isaac with a thousand question marks in his eyes. It makes Isaac's stomach twist in the most unpleasant way possible, having Scott look at him like that again, like they're strangers seeing each other for the first time. But maybe it's fitting. Reasonable, even. After all, they've never acted like – like this around each other before.

But then, out of the blue, Scott starts grinning, wide and bright and so full of warmth that it takes Isaac's breath away. And, well – Isaac supposes there are no words to describe just how screwed he is exactly. Scott shakes his head slowly, covering his face with his hands, but Isaac can hear his laughter anyway. He's about to ask what's so funny because he really, truly, honestly doesn't get it, when Scott rests his forehead on Isaac's shoulder, fingers tapping lightly on his waist, _I look around and everything I see is beautiful cause all I see is you_, before fisting his hands in the material of Isaac's shirt.

"You were jealous," Scott says, looking up again. It's not a question; he simply states it like he's sure it's a fact, and his shy smile, pure and beautiful and breathtaking, doesn't stem from insecurity. His gaze flicks down to Isaac's lips and then back up to his eyes, an invitation if there ever was one.

Isaac doesn't hesitate before leaning down and crashing their lips together.


	4. Chapter 4

There are no fireworks. Time doesn't stop for them, doesn't even slow down, and the people around them don't start clapping – then again, Isaac isn't sure he'd notice if they did. It's not like a scene out of the movies, a slow motion-worthy moment with a dramatic film score playing in the background, softly at first, getting increasingly louder with each passing second. Just familiar beats and Justin Timberlake's voice to remind Isaac how very real and new and terrifying this all is, the press of Scott's mouth against his, the hesitant way in which their lips move together, questioning and unsure, afraid of going too far too soon.

A minuscule part of him thinks that maybe he should stop and apologize right away. Another part sort of almost wants to cry because how could this even happen, when did he go from feeling so wonderfully comfortable around Scott to wanting to apologize every time he touches him? There are moments, sometimes, when Isaac can't help but feel jealous of what Scott and Stiles have, craving that simple, steady kind of friendship where an arm around the shoulders and a hand on the knee means nothing more than reassurance, I'm here, you're not alone, I'm on your side. He wants to be able to walk in on Scott in the shower and casually ask if he should order pizza or Chinese, just like Stiles does. He wants Scott to be his best friend and he wants that to be enough, no other confusing feelings getting in the way, threatening relentlessly to fuck up the best thing Isaac's ever had. But from time to time when they're in the locker room, joking around and being boys, too many boisterous teenagers in one place for anyone to pay special attention to Isaac, he watches as Scott and Stiles slap each other with wet towels, laughing when the marks on Stiles' torso don't heal as quickly as Scott's, and he realizes that instead of playing the same friendly game he wants to push Scott up against the wall and use his mouth and hands to leave his own marks on Scott's body, and he's reminded why friendship is not enough for him anymore.

He's panicking and screwing this up, he's well aware of that, thinking too much instead of responding to the kiss like he wants to, his brain becoming his own worst enemy once more. He tries to focus on the sensation of Scott's fingers digging into his hips, grateful for the minute pain he feels before his skin starts healing almost instantly, a much-needed distraction from all the fears and doubts clouding his senses.

His hands come up to cup Scott's face, gently tilting his head to the side, coaxing Scott's lips open with the tip of his tongue. Scott goes with it, grinning into the kiss, and Isaac lets himself be giddy for a second because Scott didn't pull back and that's a good sign, it's great, and it's even better to have Scott's tongue tracing his bottom lip, the edge of his teeth, confidently sliding along Isaac's own, tasting like sugary Coke and unspoken words.

Isaac is distantly aware that they're moving, but he's pretty sure what they're doing can't be called dancing, slowly spinning on the spot, bodies pressed together with eager hands trying to memorize too much, too fast, too soon. Isaac grabs a fistful of Scott's shirt, trying to somehow pull him even closer, to deepen the kiss, moaning softly when one of Scott's hands slides up his neck, into his hair, tugging lightly at a longer curl, _make me feel like I am breathing, feel like I am human_.

But then Scott pulls back, gasping, pupils blown, lips slick and kiss-swollen. Isaac feels ridiculously pleased with himself because _he did that_, it's because of him that Scott's looking like that, and he wants to lean in and kiss him again, to never stop kissing him, so he does, one hand on the back of Scott's neck, the other on his waist, pulling him in, but Scott's palms are on his chest, pushing lightly until Isaac has no choice but to stop.

He wants to ask what's wrong but he has a feeling he already knows.

Scott blinks up at him, wide and earnest and regretful, and Isaac knows what's coming. "We, uh. We can't," he says, shaking his head slowly, then nodding twice, like he's trying to convince himself more than anything. Isaac nods too, robotically. He doesn't trust himself to speak right now. "Can't do this to her, man," Scott continues. "She doesn't deserve it."

Isaac nods one more time. He's right, Scott's right, of course he is. He knows he's right, he does, but that doesn't make it easier. To walk away from something he's wanted for so long, pretend he doesn't want it anymore. That's not – he can't – it's not –

Not fair. It's all he can think about. This isn't fair.

"What do you want, Scott?" he snaps suddenly, surprising himself and surprising Scott, whose eyes go impossibly wide again. Isaac almost laughs – no, he actually laughs, sounding hysteric and desperate and angry. Scott tries to put a hand on his shoulder, but Isaac grabs his wrist, grabs his other arm too, pulls him closer. It's not fair that they are always the ones who have to hurt and bleed and givegive_give_ without asking for anything in return. It's not fair how much they've already had to sacrifice and everything Scott's had to give up on, and saying _it's okay_ for the sake of others when your own heart is breaking is actually the farthest fucking thing from okay. And Isaac – he's not a saint, has never tried to fool himself into thinking he is, so he doesn't feel all that guilty for letting his selfishness win this one time. He just needs Scott to do it too, to stop being so fucking altruistic for once, to stop thinking about what others want and need and deserve, and just give in to what he wants. "Scott," he tries again, voice softer, his hands cupping Scott's cheeks as they both close their eyes. "Scott. What do you want?"

/ / /

It's a bit surreal, Isaac thinks, his mouth curving into a grin as Scott's hands slide under his shirt, cold fingertips on his stomach and soft lips on his neck making him shiver. He never thought he'd get to live the standard cliché scene from every teen movie ever and he sort of wants to laugh at himself, how even is this his life, honestly. He's lying on his back in the backseat of Stiles' jeep, long legs wrapped loosely around Scott's hips, stealing kisses and genuine smiles and moments that somehow feel lighter than they actually are.

It wouldn't take long to drive back to the motel, he's pretty sure they could make it in under seven minutes if they tried, but touching each other makes even breathing seem second-rate right now. Isaac supposes it would be nice if he didn't bump his head or elbow or knee against something every time he attempts to move, but then Scott sucks a bruise into the junction of his neck and shoulder, frowning at it when it heals right away and starting all over again, teeth and lips and tongue, and Isaac can't remember what he was complaining about.

"Off," he half-demands, half-whimpers, tugging at Scott's shirt with one hand, grabbing his chin with the other to bring their lips back together, urgent and desperate and a lot less playful than half a minute ago. "Take it off."

Scott nods, kneeling between Isaac's legs with his back slightly hunched to tug his shirt over his head in one swift movement, and Isaac doesn't hesitate to trail his mouth down Scott's torso, sucking and nipping at his collarbone, flicking his tongue over a hardened nipple, unabashedly enjoying the throaty moan Scott lets out. He's seen Scott shirtless – hell, he's seen him naked – so many times before, but never like this, never this close, caramel skin smooth and warm and all his to touch and kiss and taste.

It's still mind-blowing, if he's being honest, that he's allowed to do this. To run his hands down Scott's sides, fingertips whispering promises into the spaces between his ribs while Isaac's lips brush over Scott's pulse point, blunt, human teeth scraping lightly over his skin. He takes his own shirt off before letting Scott push him back down again, his heart thudding in his chest like a clock that can't remember how to work right anymore, a ticking time bomb, a siren song that Scott follows without a second thought, pressing his hand flat over Isaac's heart, replacing it with his lips a moment later, a kiss too tender and chaste for what this is supposed to be.

And that – that's something Isaac can't handle. Not now, not ever in this lifetime and possibly the next one too, but especially not right now, so he kisses Scott again, teeth and tongue and unfeigned urgency concealing every particle of overwhelming affection that Isaac desperately tries not to think about. He'd rather let this feeling eat away at him for the rest of forever than try to name it, try to figure out what it means that this – kissing Scott, touching him, learning how his breathing hitches when Isaac sinks his teeth in Scott's bottom lip – it's not something uncontrollable and overpowering. Isaac doesn't have that excuse, can't say he doesn't know what he's doing because he's perfectly aware of what he's doing, it's a conscious decision not to stop, and that's probably worse, actually, that he hasn't completely lost his self-control but decides to keep going anyway, to keep kissing Scott like nothing and no one else matters.

He'll feel guilty about it in the morning.

He wraps his legs tighter around Scott's waist, one hand coming up to fist in his hair when Scott grinds his hips down, both of them inhaling sharply at the same time. Maybe they should have talk about it first, Isaac thinks then. Make sure they know what they're still comfortable with before it all gets too much. But Scott does it again and Isaac whimpers helplessly, arching his back and lifting his hips, cursing when he hears Scott's drawn-out moan.

He's getting dizzy, his fingers almost numb when he unzips Scott's jeans and shoves them around his thighs. It's amazing how much this feels like drowning, flying and sinking all at once, every sense overwhelmed. It shouldn't even surprise him anymore that it's Scott's touch what brings him back, his fingers closing around Isaac's wrists.

"No, no, let – let me," he mumbles into Isaac's neck, his breath warm against the sensitive skin. Isaac nods, eyes rolling in the back of his head, another whimper leaving his lips when Scott cups him through his jeans.

He's fine with this, he really is, perfectly happy to let Scott take control, because it's still them and this is how things work between them, Scott leads and Isaac follows willingly, trusting Scott more than he thought he'd ever be able to trust anyone. Trusting Scott blindly.

It's when he tugs on Scott's boxer briefs and Scott murmurs "You don't – you don't have to," shyly and with a hint of guilt, that Isaac realizes something's off, because if Scott hasn't yet figured out that Isaac really, really wants this, there's something wrong here.

He pushes at Scott's shoulders until he's sitting and Isaac can climb into his lap, legs on either side of Scott's hips. "Stop it," he hisses, pressing his lips hard against Scott's for a second before pulling away. "You're not – this isn't – you're not making me do something I don't want, okay? Shit, Scott, I started this, how can you think I don't – I – just. It won't – no. No. For fuck's sake, stop trying to take the blame for everything," he almost begs, kissing Scott again, licking into his mouth like he's trying to chase the taste of guilt and every other bad thought away.

He starts rolling his hips, swallowing every moan Scott lets out, fingers pulling gently on the soft strands of dark hair. Scott grabs him by the back of his neck, fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into his skin, and Isaac groans, taken aback by the sharp sting. His brain needs a moment to catch up, feeling his skin starting to heal slowly, taking longer than usual, but then he remembers, with a stupid, ridiculous, warm feeling spreading inside of his chest cavity, that Scott is an Alpha now. He could leave marks if he wanted; temporary tattoos, short stories written in long, red lines on the pale skin of Isaac's back. Isaac can't explain why, but he wants it – wants Scott to leave a visible mark on him, to match the ones Isaac already has on his heart.

"This – this okay?" Scott asks as he undoes Isaac's jeans, letting his hand slip under the waistband of his boxers, wrapping his fingers tentatively around Isaac's cock.

Isaac lets out a whine, loud and needy and he'd probably be terribly embarrassed in any other circumstance, but right now all he cares about is that Scott's hand doesn't stop stroking him. "Definitely okay," he pants, forehead coming to rest on Scott's shoulder, hips bucking mindlessly into Scott's touch.

He can hear Scott smiling when he mumbles, "Okay, yeah. Yeah, good," so he leans forward to steal the smile from Scott's lips and fall in love with it instantly before tucking it safely into a corner of his heart.

Scott starts moving his hand faster, grip tight and confident, his hips thrusting up rhythmically, reminding Isaac to grind down. He runs his thumb over the head of Isaac's cock, dragging it over the slit and back down again. Isaac tenses, the heat pooling low in his stomach spreading through his entire body, and he comes with a moan that gets lost in Scott's mouth, spilling hot over his fingers.

He can feel Scott still bucking beneath him, fast, erratic thrusts telling Isaac that Scott is close too, and he pushes down with all the energy he can muster, once, twice, and then Scott lets his head fall back, bitten lips parted on a silent cry as he comes.

Isaac takes it all in, the rise and fall of Scott's chest, the slight quirk of his mouth before a dopey, satiated smile takes over, the way his eyes flutter open, warmth and affection shining bright and making Isaac's stomach twist with some unnamed feeling. He brushes his thumb over Scott's cheekbone, trying to convey every word he can't bring himself to utter through a simple, gentle touch that means so much more than a bunch of random letters ever could.

Scott doesn't say anything either. Instead he turns his head and presses his lips to the inside of Isaac's wrist, a silent confession, words that neither of them is allowed to say out loud.

Not anymore.

It happens in the blink of an eye – a sharp intake of breath, a flash of red, and Isaac hears the stutter in Scott's heartbeat at the same time he can feel it in his own chest. And just like that, reality comes crashing down.

/ / /

He doesn't sleep that night. He's fairly sure he's going to regret it in a few hours, since he's supposed to be driving and he sort of needs to be able to keep his eyes open in order to do that, but, well, it is what it is. Normally he only feels so tense, so painfully on edge right before a fight, anticipation humming in his veins, emotions bottled up inside waiting to be released. It's something that he's used to – he knows how it works, how to control it, it doesn't scare him. This, though. This, now – it feels as if he's going to explode, all the words stuck in his throat threatening to burst out of him and make a mess that no one could ever fix. There's a rope tied around his neck, made of guilt and heartbreak and misery, and every time he tries to get rid of it his fingers get tangled and he ends up choking on air and unwelcomed tears that remind him how pathetic he truly is. A couple of times he thinks he's actually going to throw up, rushes to the bathroom expecting letters to pour from his throat onto the light brown tiles, but nothing happens, everything stays inside, _I'm sorry _and _please don't give up on me yet _locked in another box that he doesn't plan on ever opening again.

He watches the sun rise, watches the morning light seep through thin curtains, dull and cold and dirty. He watches as everything falls to pieces and doesn't say a thing.

Scott wakes up one hour and thirty-two minutes later. He takes one look at Isaac, eyes wide open and focused, and Isaac doesn't want to think it but – it feels nice to be the center of Scott's world even if only for a second.

"I'll drive," Scott says firmly, managing somehow to keep his voice gentle at the same time, and it shouldn't – it shouldn't mean anything but it takes everything in Isaac not to break down when Scott places a kiss on the top of his head.

/ / /

The way in which people are drawn to Scott is almost otherworldly, Isaac has thought on more than one occasion. Like planets orbiting the sun, cheesy as that sounds. Scott is a beacon, shining so, so bright and, honestly, it shouldn't come as a surprise that his light attracts darkness – broken individuals who have lost everything, every last sliver of hope and faith that anything good might be real instead of just a figment of their imagination. People like Derek and Deucalion. People like Isaac.

He used to think there was something about himself, something inherently repulsive and unlovable that made everyone leave him behind or just plain ignore him, that he wasn't worthy of others' attention, let alone their love. And then Scott was there to teach him otherwise, to tear all his walls down without even trying, to gain his trust and make Isaac open up to him so easily.

And the thing is, Isaac is used to people not caring about him. It doesn't hurt anymore. But Scott cares and Scott won't leave, and Isaac hates himself for being so ridiculously weak even more than he hates everyone who is responsible for him turning into this broken boy who thinks that not being let down for once will hurt so much more than being left behind.

/ / /

He doesn't remember falling asleep but he wakes up to the pitter-patter of rain against the window and _kiss me hard before you go_ coming from the radio, Scott's fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"Hey," he croaks out, voice rough from sleep. Scott turns his head quickly, mouth curving into a warm smile before he focuses on the road again. "How long did I – "

"Uh." Scott tilts his head a little, eyebrows furrowed. "About five hours, I think? It's okay, you didn't miss anything, just rain and clouds and some more rain," he adds when Isaac gives him a wide-eyed look. It's not that Isaac feels like he should apologize for sleeping but – well, yeah, he actually kind of does. Old habits and all that. "I, uh, got us some food. Double cheeseburger, right?" Scott continues, pointing at the McDonald's bags in the backseat.

As if on cue, Isaac's stomach starts growling. His heart does a somersault but that's less important – just Isaac being completely ridiculous, because Scott is that kind of person who remembers little things, like what his friends like to eat, and it doesn't mean anything, and Isaac should have learned that by now.

"I – uh. Yeah, thanks," he replies meekly, grabbing some fries and the burger that he begins to unwrap immediately, mostly so that he doesn't have to look at Scott. He's being stupid, he knows that, but he can't – can't deal with Scott being nice to him right now. He needs room to breathe, to be alone with his thoughts for a while, and Scott being friendly and sunny and warm makes Isaac want to lean into him and never let go, even if he's aware that running away would be the safer option.

Well, he sighs inwardly, equal parts resigned and angry with himself, if their friendship wasn't completely fucked before the trip, it definitely is now.

"You know," Scott begins, his face carefully blank. Isaac mentally prepares himself for the soothing lie that Scott is about to offer, but his heartbeat is steady, so Isaac doesn't try to stop him from whatever he plans on saying next. "If you want to tell Allison about – about us. I, uh, I get it. It's okay. I know that last night was a one-time thing, but, um. I just – I don't want you to think it's your fault, okay? And I don't want her to think that either if you decide to tell her, so, like, if you want to, we could tell her together and – "

Isaac bursts out laughing. He's pretty sure he's never sounded less amused in his life, though, and Scott must hear all the bitterness that Isaac can't hold in anymore because he stops talking. He needs a second to rearrange the puzzle pieces and reassign the parts each of them is meant to play. He supposes it speaks volumes about the relationship the three of them have that somehow it's still a bit unclear to him who he cheated on and when.

"Do you want me to break up with Allison?" he blurts out, the words slipping out of his mouth before he can even realize what he's saying.

"Do _you_ want to break up with Allison?" Scott counters, sounding like he already knows the answer, and Isaac bites his bottom lip until he can taste blood because he needs something to distract him from the resignation in Scott's voice before he can get his hopes up again.

And the truth is – he doesn't know. Fine, Allison did try to kill him – the whole pack, actually – that one time, but Isaac isn't that much of a hypocrite to act like he forgot that he tried to poison Lydia once, and they're sort of friends now. Second chances and all. And Allison is strong and brave and absolutely stunning and somehow, miraculously, she actually likes Isaac. She's not unattainable, which seems is all Scott will ever be. She's the safe option that Isaac should be running towards.

"I just – I've seen how you look at each other," Scott adds when Isaac doesn't respond. Resigned. He definitely sounds resigned. Isaac wishes he could tell if it has to do with Scott's feelings for Allison – is he still in love with her, even now? – or maybe – maybe – no. No. "And how she smiles at you, man," Scott continues, a fond look on his face, brown eyes glinting with memories, "I haven't seen her smile like that in – a really long time."

Isaac doesn't say anything to that. Doesn't tell Scott that hearing him talk like this makes his heart crumble. He looks out the window, the raindrops drawing patterns on the glass while his nails sink into the skin of his palms; the pain makes it easier to breathe – as opposed to every mile that brings them closer to home.

Scott's voice is solemn but filled with affection when he speaks again. "It doesn't have to be complicated, Isaac. Having good things. And you and her – I think you could be great for each other. "

Isaac sighs. _And I think you and I could be perfect_ sits on the tip of his tongue, heavy and light and painful and amazing at the same time, but he doesn't open his mouth. Because words are still terrifying and he doesn't know how to make them do what he wants, and most of the time the things Isaac says and the things Isaac means are two very different stories with nothing in common other than the protagonist's name.

He closes his eyes and steadies his breathing, pretending to fall asleep once again.

Scott turns the radio off.

/ / /

Things don't really change. Isaac keeps dating Allison and Scott doesn't stop being his best friend and if Derek notices how their hearts sometimes start beating out of rhythm at the most random moments, he never mentions it.

Scott is still trying to avoid his father and Stiles and Isaac are always there to put a glass wall between them, one that Scott is free to break whenever he wants to, whenever he feels ready. Until that happens, Stiles and Isaac agree to keep an eye on him and help however they can, an arm around Scott's shoulders or a snippy remark that Melissa can't help but smile guiltily at, but which is effective enough to make the Agent leave Scott alone.

And maybe there's this one time after an argument filled with venom-coated words that leave angry red marks on Scott's heart and in his eyes, when even Stiles' jokes and threats against his father fail to make Scott laugh, and Isaac doesn't know how to fix it, what to say to make Scott feel better, so he kisses Scott after Stiles leaves and maybe Scott kisses him back, but that isn't something they talk about.

/ / /

Sometimes he thinks Allison knows. He hasn't told her, doesn't plan on doing it either, but every now and then she gives Isaac this look, soft and compassionate, like she understands perfectly, like she knows exactly what's going on inside of him and has no trouble naming this feeling that Isaac still can't figure out if he's running away from or running towards it.

It's when Isaac curls his fingers around Scott's elbow, pulling him unnecessarily close to whisper something that Scott could hear from a mile away or when Scott gives him a particularly blinding smile, one that Allison recognizes without difficulty since she's the only one who has ever received it before. When Aiden starts making jokes at Isaac's expense, just this side of cruel, and Scott shoots him a look that makes Aiden shut his mouth right away; when Scott's hand comes to rest on the back of Isaac's neck, thumb rubbing circles into the skin there, the touch comforting for a brief second before starting to send sparks down his spine. When Scott leans into Isaac before he realizes what he's doing and pulls away with a sheepish, apologetic smile that Isaac pretends not to notice and he wraps an arm around Scott's shoulders instead.

It's the norm for them and no one questions it. Allison doesn't either, at least not aloud, but her eyes keep telling Isaac truths he's too afraid to hear.

/ / /

He vaguely remembers a conversation Scott and Stiles had a lifetime ago, before sacrifices and suicide attempts and bonds that no one could have seen taking roots and growing. He remembers Scott saying how everything was so ephemeral and now he hopes Scott was right, hopes that he won't have black fingers wrapped around his heart forever, squeezing until Isaac almost wants to reach inside and take it out and throw it away because it hurts too much. Almost. And then he remembers that nothing lasts forever, and that includes pain. Remembers that some things can take your breath away, but that doesn't mean there won't come a day when you'll forget all about them.

It's not okay yet and maybe Isaac has a playlist of songs that he's only just beginning to feel like he can listen to again without breaking down on the spot, but he's coping. He has to. After all, it's his fault that he ended up here. He should have known better than to think he could stand so close to the sun and not get burned.

/ / /

There's a new girl at school who can't quite keep her eyes off Scott and sometimes Scott looks at her too, and Isaac knows he has no right to be jealous, but, well. He still needs to find a way to swallow around the lump in his throat whenever he sees them together.

Scott swears they aren't dating even if they did go out a times few (six, but who's counting) and for some reason that's when everyone starts giving Isaac sympathetic looks that he really can't make sense of. In case anyone forgot, _he_ does have a girlfriend, thank you very much, and who Scott decides to date or not to date is none of his business.

It's just Melissa and Stiles at first, which is – manageable. He can pretend that Melissa found out something about his shitty past (except she already knows everything, so) and that's what she pities him for. He can tell himself that Stiles is insane (and one of the most perceptive people Isaac's ever met but that's a different story) and that's all there is to it. But then Lydia is suddenly there by his side to steer him away from Scott when he's busy with his not-girlfriend, and Danny attempts to distract him with PC games that aren't even out yet – Isaac doesn't ask – and then, one day, Ethan and Aiden of all people offer to race him to the woods and wrestle if he needs to take his mind off – _stuff_. Cora takes him shopping because Peter decides that she needs new clothes and apparently Isaac has an eye for fashion or something, and Derek even lets him borrow the car to take Allison to the movies on their two-month anniversary, which is a sure sign of the Apocalypse.

Allison holds his hand through all of it, always right next to him whenever he needs her, a soothing presence that he's more than grateful for because he's on the verge of a breakdown and he doesn't think he could make it out alive on his own.

The whole world wasn't supposed to figure this one out before Isaac found the courage to admit it to himself.

He tries to tell Scott once but the words get stuck in his throat like they always do when he has something meaningful to say, especially to Scott, especially when it comes to _this_. It doesn't even surprise him that they end up kissing instead.

/ / /

"You can't help it, you know. Who you fall in love with." Allison tells him calmly one day after he brings her home from school. It's going to be one of those conversations that lead to life-altering decisions, Isaac realizes at once, suddenly feeling very small and fearful and young. Then again, Allison has always been braver than him. "It's not something you can control. You can't choose who you fall for," she says like she's simply stating a universal truth, but Isaac can hear the hidden meaning behind her words. It doesn't sound like an accusation. That doesn't make it hurt any less, though. "Sometimes it's – it's so unexpected it's downright terrifying. All of a sudden there's this person in your life and – and you never saw them coming, never thought they could affect you so strongly, but they can and they do, they light up your world and make it so much brighter. Better. They make it better. It's as if with their help you can finally see every color the world has to offer after spending forever thinking everything was grey. And without them, your life would be – it would – "

"Suck?" Isaac tries when he sees her struggling to find the right words. Allison laughs, sweet and lighthearted, her cheeks dimpling, curls bouncing on her shoulders when she nods. And for a second it feels like nothing's changed. Like she's going to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him softly and ask if he wants to come inside, the mischievous smile on her lips matching the twinkle in her eyes. But that's not going to happen and they both know it.

Allison sighs and takes his hand, giving it a light squeeze. "It's okay," is all she says.

Isaac asks if she's breaking up with him.

/ / /

He finds Scott in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, strumming his guitar with a faraway look in his eyes – _then you walk right through the doorway, you tell me you're here to stay_. At first he doesn't even notice that he's not alone in the room anymore – and Isaac is tempted to make a joke about how an Alpha should know better than to shut his senses off like that, to make Scott laugh and bring him back from wherever he goes when he loses himself. But then Scott looks up and the smile that spreads across his face when he sees Isaac standing there makes Isaac's brain shut down, as if someone had actually pressed a switch and that's all it took for Isaac to go from normal into hopelessly in love mode.

"She's not your girlfriend," he half states, half asks with a tint of desperation in his voice, the words tumbling past his lips before he has the chance to think them through.

Scott frowns, obviously confused for a second, and Isaac panics because, come on, there's only person he could be talking about, no reason for Scott to look so baffled. Unless there's someone else, someone new, another girl – or boy, whatever – and if that's the case – no. No, the universe can't be that cruel.

It's easy to pinpoint the exact moment when realization dawns on Scott, fond exasperation making his lips curve into a barely suppressed smile before he rolls his eyes and says, "Nope, not my girlfriend."

"So you're single."

Scott quirks an eyebrow. "Yes," he says, his voice slow like honey, "I s'pose not having a girlfriend does indeed imply that I'm single, yeah."

"Well, good. That's – that's good, yeah," Isaac says nodding, and of course he would stutter when he's trying to sound as casual as possible because that's how well he manages to control himself around Scott. He comes to sit next to him, waits until Scott puts his guitar behind them on the bed, then knocks their knees together. "Because, you see, I'm single too. Have been for, like, thirty minutes now," he adds when Scott opens his mouth, his eyes widening, and Isaac can't bite back a grin. He doesn't need words to hear the _are you serious_ on the tip of Scott's tongue, see it in the warm brown of his eyes. "But I plan on changing that. Being single. Like, right now. If that's okay with you."

Scott doesn't answer. He keeps blinking, looking at Isaac with disbelieving eyes that make Isaac's heart clench. This isn't something Isaac would joke about, Scott must know that. It shouldn't be so hard to believe, either. That it doesn't always have to be difficult to achieve happiness. It was Scott who taught him that – maybe it's time to return the favor.

"Scott?"

"No." Scott shakes his head, takes a deep breath through his nose and starts grinning. "I mean yes. I mean – shit. I'm gonna need an explanation, okay? Like, a really long one. You're gonna have to tell me everything, because I honestly don't get it how this – how we – _how_, Isaac? Allison – "

"Knows. And she's okay with it. Actually, we should probably thank her. That is, if you and me – if we – you know, if – "

Scott cuts him off by pressing their lips together.

It's slow, unhurried, as if they have forever and a day to memorize the taste of each other's lips. And the best part, Isaac realizes, is that they do. It's not just another stolen moment, a secret that weighs heavily on them, a spark of pleasure that fills them with guilt. It's okay now. They're allowed to kiss and touch and love until their hearts feel like they're about to burst with happiness.

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" Scott asks between kisses, and Isaac nods, allowing his fingertips to start writing a story on Scott's body in a language that only the two of them are able to understand.


End file.
